– Aye, well nae herm done! auld Eric shouts back, then says in lower voice tae us, but still enough for every cunt tae hear, – What’s his fuckin problem?

– C’moan Eric … Vaughan goes, – Lloyd’s no a member here.

– Aye, well, the laddie’s been signed in. Signed in as a guest. It’s aw bona fide. Wir no daein herm. Like ah sais, nae herm done, Eric shook his heid.

– Procedures have been observed, eh, Eric, ah smirk.

– The situation’s completely bona fide, Eric confirms stoically.

– Ah think a certain Monsieur Vaughan Buist may be smarting over a recent sporting setback, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Cantona? He ees, ow you say, ay leetal peesed off.

– Je suis une booler, Eric cackles.

– It’s no that, Lloyd, Vaughan mumps, – Aw ah’m tryin tae say is thit you’re no a member here. Yir a guest. Yir the responsibility ay the people that bring ye. That’s aw ah’m tryin tae say.

– Aye … bit nae herm done … mumbles Eric.

– It’s jist like that club you go tae, Lloyd. That place up at The Venue. What’s that club called?

– The Pure.

– Aye, right. It’s like if you’re at The Pure n ah wis tae come up n you were tae sign ays in …

– As ma guest, ah snorted, laughing uncontrollably at the thought. Ah heard auld Eric start as well. It got soas we were gaunnae peg oot.

– As your guest … Vaughan had started now. Ah thought: this is me fucked. Flight Lieutenant Biggles, hovering over the grim metropolis of Cunt City … Auld Eric started wheezing, as Vaughan carried on, – as the guest of one’s brother Lloyd at the exclusive club in town he frequents …

We were interrupted by a choking sound as auld Eric boaked thin beer-sick over the table. The humpty cunt with the blazer and badge was right over to him and grabbed up his pint. – That’s it! Oot, c’moan! Oot!

Vaughan grabbed the pint back. – That’s no fuckin well it at aw, Tommy.

– Aye it bloody well is! That’s it, the humpty cunt snapped.

– Dinnae fuckin well come ower tae this table n say that’s it, Vaughan said, – cause that’s no it at aw.

Ah slapped Eric on the back and helped the auld cunt to his feet and through to the lavvy. – It’s a sair ficht, right enough, ah caught him gasp between mouthfuls of sick as he spewed up into the bog pan.

– Aye, Eric, yir awright, man. Nae danger, ah said encouragingly. Ah felt like ah was at Rez, talking Woodsy down when he had his freak-out, but here ah was with a daft auld cunt in a bowling club.