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have got problems.’
    Garry knew James through a mutual friend but, because they lived in close proximity to each other, they often went for a quiet drink together. They shared quite a bit in common but James earned a very good salary, which was a little intimidating. Garry pushed his hair behind his ears and took another mouthful from his drink.
    ‘You just think things are going to be better than this, don’t you?’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Well I always wanted to be a journalist. You watch all these programmes and read the papers and everyone seems to be doing something worthwhile. I wanted to be a travel writer. From what I thought, you’d just be sent off to explore the world and get to stay in all these plush hotels and flirt with the exotic barmaids. You’d just send through a few hundred words then move on to the next place.’
    ‘I don’t think most jobs are like that mate,’ his friend laughed.
    ‘I know but I want to do things like go to the football and interview the players and so on. As it is, I can’t even get into movies for free.’
    ‘Why should you be able to?’
    ‘Well someone’s got to review these things.’
    ‘Not you though?’
    ‘No chance mate.’
    ‘So what do you do? I thought you at least got to interview some famous people?’
    ‘Sort of. You remember that reality TV girl who slept with that guy? You know that presenter bloke? It was all over the news.’
    James looked blankly at him and shook his head. ‘That’s not the most-accurate portrayal of someone I’ve ever heard.’
    ‘Well I don’t know their names.’
    ‘Neither do I from that description.’
    ‘Whatever,’ Garry said shaking his head. ‘Anyway, I went to interview her. She had a book she was supposed to be promoting but talked in one and two-word answers. If that’s how she spoke then God knows how bad the writing was. Aside from her own fingernails, she wasn’t interested in anything. After fifteen minutes of not answering questions, she was whisked off to some other appointment by her PA.’
    ‘Was she hot though?’
    Garry smiled. ‘In a glowing orange radioactive-type way.’
    ‘You’re too picky.’
    ‘I wish I had the opportunity to be fussy.’
    James finished another mouthful of his drink then laughed again.
    ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Garry continued. ‘Most of the time I get stuck talking to councillors about all sorts of nonsense.’
    ‘That does sound pretty boring. What’s the name of your paper again?’
    ‘The Manchester Morning Herald. I’ve worked there for eighteen months now. How many front page stories do you reckon I’ve got in that time?’
    ‘I have no idea. I don’t really look at papers to be honest. Twenty?’
    ‘Two – and both of them were about how often people’s bins get emptied.’
    ‘Ooh, big-time.’
    It was Garry’s turn to laugh. ‘I know but it’s mad out there. People will put up with most things; gangs on the streets, giant pot holes in their roads, rising crime rates, you name it. But stop emptying their bins every week and it all kicks off.’
    ‘Funnily enough, my dad was moaning about his bins over the phone the other week.’
    ‘See what I mean? It’s crazy and these are the people I’m out talking to every day.’
    ‘Go on then, tell me about your worst encounter.’
    ‘All right. Do you remember how freezing it was last winter with all the snow and everything? On the coldest day for six years, I got sent out on to the streets to ask people their views on local government.’
    James spat half a mouthful of beer back into his glass. ‘Bloody hell mate, no wonder you’re annoyed.’
    ‘That’s not even the worst bit. Most people told me to eff off or whatever, or just ignored me. It was about eleven in the morning and there were these kids who I’m sure should have been in school. They were about thirteen or something. Anyway, they were standing just across the street shouting “kiddy-fiddler” and “paedo” at