Bobby Singh rang me to ask if I fancied drinking.

So we met in Shoulder of Mutton. Kirk gate, Bradford.

He knew everybody there, their family, their record; and everybody obviously loved and respected him.

I dragged him up to North Parade, and we sat outside in that show off sun thing. He still knew every beggar passing, apart from the beggars, who got short shirft from both of us.

I ended up at the last pub alone. Peter. 79 year old, with a moustache and an attitude he’ll take to the grave, would not have got me reacting if I’d been in company, especially if he’d not known Bobby.

I met Joe. Keith and Edmond in the Gent. I had no need to go elsewhere; and last year I I voiced a very loud opinion about the Gent, in the Gent, to the Gent; and he spook me hand a few month’s later when I next went in. So me getting stuff off my chest in Bradford does not mean I cannot go back to that pub.

So I reckon that as long as I become rich enough to get 2 buses in a day, even I cannot get angry enough in different boozers in Bradford to have no boozer to drink in. In Crawley I’d do that in a day with an all day bus ticket!

PS. Bobby bought me an Indian whisky in the Record Cafe, first Indian malt whisky, at 50% and a lot cheaper than the massively over priced Ardberg Dave bought me on Sunday.