The Lurgy
Toby Litt
You’d’ve have been curious, I bet – if you’d been there – the alley behind The Albion, two middle-aged men running down past the trees, the first one shouting ‘You’ve still got it’, the second one shouting, ‘I f*****g touched you again’.
The one in the lead was Chris, the catcher-up was me, Tony.
I hadn’t only phoned him and arranged to meet in order to give him it. I wanted a chat about our kids, my two boys and his two girls, and about my ex-wife and, if he insisted, about Christine in bed and all that S&M milarkey. I wanted a few lagers and, at the end of the evening, to call a taxi – then, with the window down, to call him over for a final word, touch him, say ‘Lurgy’ and pull back to where he couldn’t get me, have the taxi drive off. Me victorious, him lurgied
