“Where the fuck do you even get pig’s blood after ten o’clock at night?” “I’m not sure that’s what matters,” I said. “Where? The? Fuck?” “We need to talk about personal security.” “Is there an open-all-hours wanker’s equipment shop?” “You should come and stay with me. Both of you. Or go to Michael’s.” “Because I’m a little bit hurt that no one’s ever told me about it, if there is. What if I’d needed to drown someone in fermenting sheep shit? You know, after hours? Because obviously I can get sheep shit during the day, I mean, who fucking can’t? But what if I’d had a sheep shit emergency and,
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