He was a hooligan back in the 70s,

a real hard bastard, a member of the

Monte Carlo crew. Middle-age had

softened him, not just physically, but

 

spiritually as well. He swapped the

terraces for the suburbs, got himself

a wife and fathered three pretty girls.

Now, he works with children who have

 

learning difficulties, and harbours

‘literary ambitions’ in his spare time. In

the lecture, he waits patiently while the

rest of the students  jabber and flap in

 

the front of the group. He looks placid,

but there’s a glint in his eye, a cold blue

flicker that suggests that even now, if

anyone tries taking the piss, he’ll hammer

 

them flat like a panel. It’s more like a

therapy session than a lesson this, he says

when it’s his turn to speak. For various

reasons, no-one disagrees with him.