"...........through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea."

Gok Wan put his pint down, and stared fixedly at something over my shoulder. At first I thought the Gokmeister had spotted a rube walking away from the 'Deal or No Deal' fruit machine, having deposited a healthy tenner for no payout: a deposit that Gok Wan regarded as his by right  for the harvesting. But as I craned round I saw Ashley Banjo muscling his way in through through the Swan's double doors, using his walking stick as a fulcrum to lever his gammy leg through the gap.

His walking stick was the first thing you noticed about Ashley. In the halycon days before the children, and the exponential increase of paternal time spent on the lash, Mr and Mrs Banjo had spent their summer weeks and weekends touring the country in their two-berth caravan. Ashley had saved commemorative stickers from each town and campsite and, after the two-berth was green and mildewed on the block paving and Mrs Banjo and the children resident in Chelmsley Wood, he stuck the stickers in a neat line chronologically from Betws-y-Coed at the ferrule to Whitby three-quarters of the way towards the curve of the handle. From Whitby to the rounded tip at the end of the handle Ashley had painted longitudinal stripes of claret and blue, for the Villa.

"I'll Secret-bloody-Streetcrew him, if he comes over here." Gok Wan said, not too loudly. We weren't suprised to see Ashley. Word was that he was barred from every joint within a reasonable walking distance of the High Street, but Ronni was in hock to some Yardies for charlie and she was holding open house at  the Swan.

I turned back to Gok Wan. With elaborate unconcern he took out a pen,and began sketching some profiles for an exciting new range of shapewear. Ashley and Gok Wan had history. It was spoken-unspoken that they could tolerate each other's presence, even socialise at certain times, but there were caveats. A tide ran between them, the ebb and flow of which you knew, but the imperatives behind it were obscure. Ashley in a crowd was different man to Ashley on his own; and Gok Wan at ten in the morning was a different man to Gok Wan at 6pm.

I looked over my shoulder again. Ashley had gone down the steps to the big area with the Sky TV, and was berating Iranian Elvis about something on the wide screen. I rolled myself a cigarette and went out to stand by the municipal flower beds in the precinct. I exhaled luxuriously among the pigeons and the takeaway cartons. It was going to be a long afternoon.