I definitely recommend reading this.
“Aye, it’s funny the stuff you remember,” he said.
Bernie was crouched over a circuit board, huge hands deftly dabbing a soldering iron onto contacts, little wisps of smoke drifting up from the quivering silver.
“I always went to the match wi’ me dad. We had season tickets for as long as I remember, and even after him and me mother divorced he took us to the game. It’s summat we had in common, like, a bond. Every Saturday I’d get the bus down to the pub where I knew he’d be, having a few pre-match pints, like. I were only sixteen so I didn’t drink owt, but he liked a few.
“We always had some snap. Sarnies and stuff. We had them at half time. He used to nip off at forty minutes for a piss to beat the rush. If you went at half time you’d find your…
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