Bit 1.4

"How much longer is this going to go on for?"
God I hate football.
"There's only another half an hour to go. Stop whinging!"
"I just don't find it hugely entertaining being crammed in a pub with large sweaty men watching overhyped and farcically overpaid baboons kicking a ball around."
But then, that's just my opinion.
Rob turned to face me, exasperated. "Will you stop complaining - you're like an old woman! You're supposed to be having fun!"
"This is categorically not my idea of fun."
"Oh, and what would you rather be doing?"
Sitting on a sun-kissed beach with Kate, watching the light reflect off the waves, and off her skin...
"You see!" Rob exclaimed triumphantly. He's loving this. "There's nothing better!"
"You didn't give me chance to answer!"
"There was nothing you could possibly say which would be better."
Oh yes there is.
"Stop thinking about my sister!"
Bugger.
Suddenly a roar. Bloody hell, my nerves aren't good. It's probably the surroundings more than anything. There's a reason no-one comes out of the city any more. Because it's bloody terrifying.
"Thanks dude. I missed that." Rob punched me on the arm. I have committed the cardinal sin of distracting him from his football.
So we stand in silence for a bit longer. Rob's fixed on the screen. I for once am not thinking about Kate, but trying to see exactly what appeal there is in football. I suppose there's the joy of shouting at the screen, abusing the people running around. Gets rid of some pent-up aggression, and from the looks of some of the people here they NEED to get rid of some aggression. Preferably in a non-physical way. I mean, look at that guy. He looks like he's just stepped off an Icelandic trawler with that ridiculous beard. Probably spent the past few weeks butchering whales and now he's come to the city to butcher some people too. Or maybe I'm just a big paranoid freak.
"We should probably head for the bus straight after this, mate. It's not good sense to stay out here too late."
Rob turned to look at me. "It's a chain pub, Remi. Nothing bad ever happens in a chain pub." He looked at his pint. "Well, nothing TOO bad."
"All the same, I'd rather head back. We can go to the pub round the corner for last orders."
"Because you know that Mike and Kate will be long gone."
It annoys me when he's right all the time.
"Ah well," he said. "You're probably right. Doesn't do good to stay out in these parts too long after dark. And besides which, the buses'll stop running soon."
"Oh joy. Public transport."
"Blame it on Handysides."
He had a point. If Handysides hadn't messed up so gloriously, we'd still have generous expense accounts, chauffeur-driven cars, security. Actually, messed up just doesn't do the scale of his cock-ups justice. The man was a cretin, if only because it's his fault I can't call for a driver to pick us up and take us home safely.