‘And?’

‘That’s right Coop, be grateful, it’s probably what you do best.’

‘You’re going to tell me or wot, you want what… flattery…?’

‘Yeah, you’re so good at it. OK, here goes. He was born in 1907 in Belfast. His oul lad was a Church of Ireland clergyman and you know what happens to their offspring.’

‘What?’

‘’Ary Jaysus, don’t you read the News of The World? What class of ignoramus are you. Anyway, he’s regarded as the poor fourth.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘In relation to the big three… C.S. Lewis, Auden, and Stephen Spender. No doubt you’re familiar with those boyos.’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought so. He had a brother with Down’s Syndrome.’

‘So?’

‘So Orson Welles had a brother who was mentally handicapped and his father had him locked away for ten years after which he became a social worker. A natural progression you might say. David Bowie has a brother who was also hidden away.’

I threw up my arms, said, ‘Enough, you’ve gone a tad too Irish for me.’

Doc gave a hard stare at his footwear, said, ‘Any chance of a sup of tea, here I am trying to wise you up, you won’t as much as wet a man’s whistle.’

Lisa came out of the bedroom wearing one of my shirts. At this rate I’d be shirtless. I already was clueless. I didn’t mention it, just old-fashioned gallantry I guess. But Doc leapt in.

‘I recognise the shirt but the coleen, now surely ’tis not the bould Lisa, you filthy article, what would your mother say?’

Lisa didn’t blush but her body language tried to convey she knew the feeling, answered, ‘My mum would say, I hope you took precautions.’

I was with her mother, she sure got my vote. Doc said, ‘Do you like me shoes.’

‘They’re white!’

‘Aye, as pure as the driven, any chance you’d give a man a drop of tea?’

She did. I had another jolt of coffee. I wasn’t in the mood for pissing about with tea, I wanted my caffeine naked and lethal. Doc asked her, ‘You wouldn’t know what a spike is me girl?’