‘One of my old teachers is standing in this election,’ I said. ‘A bloke called Pike Wilson. We used to call him Mr Cornflakes because of his psoriasis.
‘Aha,’ Craig said. ‘Children can be such lovely creatures, eh? So much bleedin’ empathy …’
He slowed at a zebra crossing and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as an old woman with a tartan shopping trolley doddered across the road.
‘I don’t really follow politics myself,’ said Craig. ‘Which party is he in?’
‘GBIP. It’s one of the new ones, I think. Not that I know much about them. They’re a bunch of tossers, I bet,’ I said.
‘Aren’t they all?’
‘Probably. People put too much faith in politicians to sort out their lives.’
‘Aye. Life’s all about playing a bad hand of cards well’.
‘True, true Mr Magoo,’ I said.
‘Was he a decent
