I was late for work and in more of a mood than usual, partly because I’d just learned I’d been to school with the full-time poet Brian Bilston, who doesn’t write this kind of stuff. I’d fought with Brian back in the day, but then I’d fought with everyone back in the day so there was nothing new there. Me and Brian had been at a playdate at Kevin Hyde’s house. Kevin’s parents had looked on, perplexed – they were God-fearing people – as the fists flew. Kevin Hyde was the only ...
