Twinny I’d met in the Flemish Weaver and got to know him over a beer. But then a couple of days later when I said hello at the bar he was really fucking rude, looked at me like I was off my head, and told me to fuck off. I went back to my corner moaning about it to Greg Wood, like, “That fucking Twinny’s a weird one, isn’t he? I had a good crack with him the other night and he’d just told me to do one.” “Why do you think he’s called Twinny?” said Greg. “That’s his twin, y’dickhead.” Ah . . .
