At the end of a long day cracking bonces, kipping, and avoiding paperwork, there's nothing better than a pint or three. As is customary, Chris is buying. He just doesn't know it yet
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He almost falls out of his chair and onto his arse. Cabinets and drawers rattle when he springs to his feet - I’m up, I’m up - chair rolling off somewhere behind him until it just fades away
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Ray tips his chair back, leans into Chris' right side, and gestures to the telly with the lit end of his cigarette. He's not speaking particularly loudly, but he isn't trying to be quiet either.
"Which would you say is better: football season, or sex?"