Jay was lying horizontally in the back of Luke's car.
"Urrghhh," muttered Jay. "Stop going over bumps." Three days on the sauce had twisted his mind. A splash of rain had seen to the postponement of all football and this prospect to a seasoned player is that of a period of abstinence to a dry drunk; not conducive to rational behaviour.
Luckily Burridge had a distraction. After whiling away a few hours in the Cork and Bottle they headed to the decidedly more up market Pitcher and Piano. Many of their players were simply unable to adjust from their simple working class ways and hid among the shadows relieved to traverse the city to somewhere that suited their tendencies - the kind of place that makes Kelly's seem like the Ritz. It was of course the Wine bar of Fryern Arcade in Chandlers Ford.
I must say I didn't see anyone with a glass of wine, perhaps the proprietors were so shocked that they'd actually managed to get people to pay three quid to get into this dive that they hadn't actually ordered any Chateau la plonk. The whole strip was so quiet it made the Peartree in Boorley Green seem like a busy boozer. What a night.......