– Didnae stay for the climax, Vaughan says, looking deflated. – Could have done wi yir support fir that last shot thair.

– Sorry, Vaughan, ah wis burstin fir a tropical fish, eh. Did ye git it?

– Naw, eh wis miles oot! The auld cunt roars. The auld cunt is dressed in white slacks, a blue open-necked shirt and has a sunhat on.

Ah slap the auld cunt on the back, – Nice one there, mate! Brilliant shot by the way, that wee spinner that nicked it at the end. Ah’m Lloyd, Vaughan’s brother.

– Aye Lloyd, ah’m Eric, he extends his hand and gies ays a crushing masonic grip, – ye play the bools yersel?

– Naw, Eric, naw ah dinnae, mate; it’s no really ma scene, ken. Ah mean ah’m no knockin the game n that, a great game … ah mean ah wis chillin oot the other day watchin that Richard Corsie gadge oan the box … he used tae be wi the Post, did eh no? That boy kens how tae fling a bool …

Fuck me, this Lou Reed is hitting the mark quickstyle.

– Eh, what yis wantin? Vaughan shouts, a wee bit embarrassed at ma ranting.

– Naw naw naw, ah’ll git them. Three lager, is it no?

– Poof’s pish, Eric scoffs, – make mine Special.

– A special drink for a special victory, eh, Eric, ah smile. The auld cunt gie ays one back. – Yuv goat Vaughan’s puss seekint here right enough!

– Aye, right, Vaughan goes, – are you gaunnae git them in, or what?

Ah hit the bar and the guy behind says that you have to have a tray to get served, and ah joke that I’ve got enough to carry as it is and he says something short like house rules, but a wee cunt in the queue hands me one anyway. I’ve forgotten about all the daft fuckin rules they have in places like this, the Brylcreemed cunts wi their blazers wi the club badges on them and how at closing time there’s mair falling masonry than when the Luftwaffe bombed Coventry cathedral … and now I’m back at my seat.

– Cheers, boys! ah say, raising my pint, – Tell ye what, Eric, ah knew that you had the bools after seeing ye in action there. This gadge has bools, ah telt maself. That Brazilian spin, man! Whoa, ya cunt that ye fuckin well are!

– Aye, said Eric, smugly, – it wis a wee thing ah thought ah’d try. Ah said tae masel, Vaughan’s marshalled his defences well, but, ah thought, try a wee sneaky one roond the backdoor, and it just might come off.

– Aye, it wis a good shot, Vaughan conceded.