It’s the first Saturday of a term that’s just three days old. Five periods to teach up to lunch.
The Three Musketeers and Taff had met up the previous night at The Crown after duties and sunk several pints in a short time.
‘How are you coping?’ Taff had asked popping money into the juke box. ‘Do you like Queen, boyo?’
“…is this the real life, is this just fantasy…”…