February 6

He sat in a drunken haze at the bar, fat round face widening into middle age, thick hair set in two greasy curtains.

He stroked his pint and told the barman about the nights before – a drunken session in the Boogie Lounge club; half remembering the football because of too many pints; three days of daytime drinking, nothing better to do. He looked around the pub, desperate to make contact.

He saw a fellow male drifter – an older man with long, dank hair. He maked eye contact with the older man, nodded and then drifted over, his legs lingering a few slack-muscled seconds behind his torso.

The two men compared stories about being drunk a lot: two lost boats bobbing in the duldrums.