I was rather hoping for a lie in the next day but awoke to a terrible thudding in my head. Well, I assumed it was coming from inside my head but as I stirred from my drunken slumber I realized it was coming from downstairs and that someone was belting the door knocker like Black Rod on Damiana.

I turned over hoping someone else would answer it but the thudding just kept on so I jumped up in a bad mood and started off towards the stairs getting angrier with every step. As I got to the landing I heard the letter box open and a bloke's voice shout out “I know you're in there!” which stopped me in my tracks.

Frank and his mystery girl didn't reappear but he had a key to our flat so we weren't too concerned. We were the last in Hooshang's as the lights went up and Simon accompanied us to the door as we weren't exactly steady on our feet and I felt the need for a ton of stoge to stop me from being beulah.

“Fancy going to Bongo Burgers?”I said to George and Finbar.

“It's Bobby's Burgers and yes I do. I'm starving” replied George. Didn't really need to ask Finbar as he'd eat anything that wasn't nailed down after a few pints.

Luckily Bobby's was just around the corner so we moved our drunken legs as fast as they'd go to arrive before they turned the griddle off and closed up. My heart sank as I turned the corner as they were pulling the blinds down but as Bobby saw us he pulled them back up again and smiled.

We always ended up in Hooshang's and every time we approached the door I'd get that feeling like butterflies in the stomach and tonight was no different. Even though we'd been going there for yonks and knew the doorman I was always thinking about the dreaded knock back.

Simon the doorman seemed to know this and delighted in making us sweat on getting in and as I approached I thought is this the night he gives it to us?

Big lump he was who looked like he did most of his bouncer training in McDonalds as his gut was so big the sight of his dick and his feet must have been distant memories.

 

Contains some explicit language!


“I fucking hate chopsticks! He bellowed. The he being Frank and the chopsticks being the tune, if you can call it that, emanating from an open window above us as we made our way up from Sheffield train station. “I mean how is playing chopsticks supposed to make you wanna play the piano? Fucking shit the piano. Why can't parents make you take guitar lessons?”

Have to say I made him right but seeing as I'd just met him I wasn't sure what to make of his loathing of the two fingered classic except for the fact that whoever was playing it sounded like they had only one finger and an arthritic one at that. Frank was George's mate and me and George shared a flat along with Finbar but he was busy stirring soup so didn't come to the station although he said he might come later if the soup was sorted. You see, Finbar liked soup!