When I woke up I was in A&E, and Phil was sitting by my bed. My head hurt. So did lots of other bits.
“Bloody hell, Al,” Phil said. “You look like shit.”
I thought that was fair enough, ‘cause I felt like s**t. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not sure. I swore blind to the fuzz it was them what started it. Think you might get a Drunk and Disorderly. Least nobody glassed no one. You hardly hit no one, anyway. It was like you couldn’t be arsed. If I get my hands on that posh tosser boyfriend of yours—bleedin’ hell, Al! Lie the f**k down!”
“You shouldn’t ought to say stuff about Larry,” I said, but it came out a bit funny ‘cause my head felt like someone hit it with a sledgehammer, and I was trying not to be sick. I lay back down.
“All right, keep your hair on,” Phil said. “If you ask me, though, he
