2nd March, 2014Despite being the hero against the bankers of Chelsea, Tommy was still riled about being yelled at and called ‘traitor’, ‘Judas’ and ‘gobshite’ by the Fudge Packers. He invited me out for a drink at the local Fudge and Wrapper pub. He needed to unwind with a swift half and perhaps have a bit of a moan. Having a whinge now and again to get things off your chest was much better than keeping it all bottled up inside. Tommy was the kind of fella who’d bottle it up and only release it by head-butting something or someone. You had to wonder how he hadn’t suffered serious brain damage yet.
The pub was half full with locals who called The Fudge and Wrapper their second home, and who the publican called leeches. Tommy and I approached the hefty, moustachioed barman with a belly any
