Phil Cummins

One sees all manner of life rock up in the waiting room of a doctor’s surgery. You have the red-faced teens with their embarrassing infections sat next to the bleary-eyed mammies comforting scabby-arsed babies.

It was a night tailor-made for lunatics, a supermoon hanging low above the town like a giant communion wafer pinned up against the inky dark sky, the night air crisp and of a sort that made breath visible. Lyric FM and the eclectic instrumentals of Night Train filled the car, the DJ’s familiar husky drawl