‘I . . . I beg your pardon?’ His voice squeaked with surprise. Two youths stood there, one wearing a long leather coat and with straggly brown hair. The other was wearing a large sheepskin and was what George knew was called a skinhead.

‘You heard, you old ponce. What was you doin’ watching Mrs Davidson getting undressed? You a nonce?’

The boy in the leather coat stepped towards him, a menacing look on his face.

‘Got any money?’ This from the skinhead. George smelt a distinct odour of glue and vomit.

He stared at them, nonplussed.

The youth in the leather coat lurched towards him and he stepped back nimbly.

‘If you two don’t go away I will call for assistance.’

The leather-coated boy mimicked him.

‘“If you two don’t go away I will call for assistance.” Well, we -’ he pointed to his friend and himself - ‘might just call the Filth ourselves. You’re a fucking peeping Tom, ain’t ya? So just give us your dosh and you can go. Quietly.’

The skinhead heaved and George watched in revulsion as a stream of vomit ejaculated from the boy’s mouth. It landed just by his shoes, splashing them. The odour wafted into his nostrils as the sick steamed in the freezing night air.

The leather-coated boy laughed uproariously at his friend, who was now hanging on to the cherry tree for support.

Fumbling inside his coat, George pulled out two five-pound notes and handed them to the boy. Leather coat took them from him and pushed them into the pocket of his jeans.

‘Come on, Trev. Let’s trounce the bastard.’

Trevor was not capable of letting go of the cherry tree and so the leather-coated boy launched himself at George alone. He held up his arms in self-defence as the first blows hit him in the face and head. He could feel himself being pushed down to the ground and the knowledge that he would end up lying in the skinhead’s vomit was all that kept him upright. He felt the cold sting as the boy’s fist came into contact with his face. Then he was rolling down the small hill, the leather-coated boy kicking him.

‘Oi! What’s all the racket about out there?’ A man’s deep voice echoed across the road and the boy looked up in its direction. A light was on on the third floor and a large man in a string vest was leaning out of a window, shaking his fist. Lights were going on all over the flats. George heard the two boys stumbling away while he lay on the cold ground, gasping for air.