[ Testing the voice ] Nelson's w/ Chris Skelton

[flickedmethevs]

"Oi, Chris!"

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?"

Comments

[bitofadogsbody]

"What?" is Chris' first response, eyebrows knitting as he first wraps his head around the question, and then as he tries to come up with a suitable answer.

"They're kind of different, aren't they? One's year-round, sort of, and the other's, well. Seasonal."

(He doesn't really know where he's going with this.)

[flickedmethevs]

He arches an eyebrow, hissing a laugh from one crooked corner of his mouth.

"Year-round? When was th'last time you saw any woodwork?"

[themanclion]

'Not a fair question, Raymondo.'

Gene barrels out of the door from the gents, a fag dangling from his lips.

'He's only got workin' knowledge of football. Nelson, another pint if you'd be so kind.'

Drink acquired (and Chris's expression ignored), he drops himself into the chair opposite.

[flickedmethevs]

He laughs boisterously.

"It's the only thing you can count on havin' at least once a week, am I right, Guv?"

[themanclion]

'Maybe in your sad, sex-starved world, Raymondo.'

He has drink and looks smug. What? He is married. Can't count on it every week if the missus isn't involved but stick her into the equation and he's golden.

'What happened t'that tart you were boffin' that worked down the Odeon? Couldn' buy my popcorn off her with a straight face, knowin' you'd had your greasy paws all over her.'

[flickedmethevs]

He irons out the grin on his face and downright pouts.

"Yeah, well."

He flicks ash from the end of his cigarette.

"Wasn't the only one, as it 'appens. That fadge 'ad seen more Yankee knobs than Buckingham Palace."