Yesterday evening my sniffles erupted into a full-blown cold. I'd been feeling fine until about 5.30 and had even been planning to go over to Westleigh Park to see the Academy team play. THen I sat down on the sofa and suddenly felt tired. Within half an hour I was going upstairs for a lie-down and, next thing I knew, felt my nostrils full. Spent the evening watching TV and sipping a hot honey and lemon.
Interviewing was agony this morning, and at the worst moments my stuffed-up nose interfered noticeably with my pronunciation. One Welsh lady constantly asked me "Can you say that again?" as if I'd been asking her the questions in Estonian. When I arrived home, after making myself a quick snack I headed for my bedroom, switched on Radio 5 Live and crashed out. Then this afternoon the headache came :(
Did two Databases mock exams. Hit a couple of sticky points on each one but pulled through in the end - so on to the real exam next week.
I think I'm coming down with another fucking cold >:(
At 9.20 pm a case appeared on my screen with a warning that the guy had told us last time that he wouldn't do any more surveys unless he was paid! Obviously that idea is a non-starter, but I still had to try him.
He wouldn't change his position - he still insisted on being paid, otherwise no survey - but what struck me was how ridiculously precious he was about it. He claimed that his time was "so valuable" that fifteen minutes amounted to a lot of time to "give away for free". Yet, according to our records, he wasn't working. My attempts to talk him round ran into a brick wall : he continued to insist that his "situation" was such that he couldn't give up a quarter of an hour unless he was paid. I wish I'd asked him exactly what that situation was - whatever it is that makes his time so valuable, it's not paid employment (not on the record, at least) and it's clearly nothing so important that he wouldn't drop it for a quarter of an hour if there was a quick quid to be made. My guess is that 1) he was simply hoping to make some easy money out of us and 2) he's completely up his own arse.
The guy did do me a favour, though; by the time I'd written my refusal report it was 9.25 - time to log out, enter my payclaim and go.
Arrived at Westleigh Park just after 5.30 yesterday morning for the trip to Anfield. There was a burger van in the corner, doing a roaring trade despite the early hour. Simon was already there; I said hello to him and asked if he had one of the official souvenir scarves for today's game. He'd sold out but said the Liverpool club shop would have them. I located Aly to find out which coach I was on, and then spent three quarters of an hour pottering around in the car park, while girls from The News roamed up and down selling souvenir copies of the paper with a free 'I Was There' poster, and the occasional bloke walked up and down through the waiting masses hawking knock-off scarves, T-shirts and flags. My coach, one of the last to board, boarded at 6.15, but it was nearly another half-hour before we finally moved.
Was sat next to a guy called Barry who I've seen at games before, and across the aisle from us were a former Pompey-supporting couple who've become fed up with the way the Premiership's gone; they'd started coming to see the Hawks this month because of the cup run but are thinking of converting full-time. We all talked about football for most of the journey up; Barry and I also had a few discussions about another mutual passion, music.
We called at Banbury services for breakfast just after 9 am and took a brief comfort stop at Stafford services around 11.30. On the way out of Stafford Tim, our other driver, gave us a tune on the harmonica. (Ruth, not he, was at the wheel at the time!)
An hour later we were entering Liverpool. Lots of people were struck by the run-down houses on the left-hand side, some of which were boarded up, some had bits of their roofs missing - more than one said "And they say Leigh Park is bad!" - contrasting with the impressive new ones on the right-hand side of the road. (A few guys commented on the high walls surrounding these estates.)
Reaching Liverpool 4, we passed Everton's ground and drove all the way round Stanley Park to our parking spot. Ruth, one of our drivers and our 'guide' for the day, told us to all be back on the coach for 5.30, warned us that anyone not on the coach by the time the police moved us on would get left behind, and signed off "Enjoy your day!"
We walked across Stanley Park and down a little alley to arrive outside Anfield. I'd messaged my old pal Denise, a Liverpool season ticket holder, via Facebook, Myspace and e-mail to let her know I was coming, including my mobile number, but sadly she hadn't got in touch. I stopped to see the Shankly Gates and paid my respects at the Hillsborough Memorial, laying down a Hawks scarf at its foot. I noticed several of the Scousers touched the memorial on the way past, sometimes apparently on a particular spot - maybe on the name of a loved one? I found myself almost blinking back tears.
Walked around the ground to join the lengthy queue for the Liverpool FC Store. Having purchased my souvenir scarf, I headed for a nearby pub, which was crammed with Hawks and Liverpool fans all happily drinking together. Having negotiated the crush at the bar to get a vodka and Red Bull, I joined a group of Hawks on a little bench - I don't think any of them actually knew me but they were friendly enough.
Called at the 'Red Griller' on a street corner opposite the ground for a very tasty quarter pounder with onions before making my way round to the away turnstiles.
I was in the corner block of seats. Almost bang in front of me were Rick Jackson and a lady colleague from Ocean FM. When the lady turned round and I said hello to her (I hadn't yet seen her big Ocean FM microphone) she asked "Are you one of our breakfast winners?" "No, I'm just an ordinary fan," I replied. She smiled.
Most of my block was happy to sit and watch the match, standing only for exciting moments like corners; there was just one bloke who kept on standing up all the time. Unfortunately, he was almost bang in front of me. I felt like tapping him on the shoulder and saying "Excuse me, mate, you don't make a good window."
Richard Pacquette put Hawks in front in the fourth minute. Total delirium. I was obviously pleased we were in the lead, but kept my feet on the ground the whole time, knowing that Liverpool had three big guns on the bench - Gerrard, Carragher and Kuyt - to wheel out at any time. That didn't stop me joining in the singing of 'Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, we're going to Wem-ber-ley'. On 22 minutes Liverpool equalised with a beautiful 20-yard lob from Babel and I was one of many Hawks fans clapping.
Then around the half-hour mark, a Hawks corner went to the head of Alfie Potter. At first we thought he'd nodded wide. It was only when Alfie started wheeling away from the goal in celebration that we realised the ball was in the back of the net. Mass celebration in the away end once more, and more choruses of 'Que sera sera' as well as serenading Rafa Benitez with 'You're getting sacked in the morning'. I remained cautious, but was now allowing myself the thought of a possible replay.
Jay Smith headed a shot off the line. Just before the break Benayoun equalised, but going in at half-time drawing was perfectly good enough for me.
I expected Liverpool's big guns to be brought on for the second half, but the Reds' 11 that started came back out. As it was, the reinforcements weren't needed, as Liverpool's class told and Benayoun scored with a rebound off the crossbar. I knew then that the chance had gone. Not long after that Benayoun made it 4-2 from close range. Game over.
We Hawks fans kept up our singing the whole time regardless. We'd had hardly any noise from the Liverpool fans in the first half, prompting one guy to try and start a chant of "Where's your famous atmosphere?" We did get four or five songs out of the Scousers once Liverpool had gone in front and began imposing themselves on the game.
Scriven made some superb saves. A Hawks attack, finding three of our men in the box, gave us momentary hope but after two low shots had been blocked Wilkinson ballooned the ball over the bar.
As we entered the last 20 minutes Dirk Kuyt came on for Benayoun. We Hawks gave the hat-trick scorer a standing ovation. A moment later the Liverpool fans did the same for Sergeant Wilko when he was subbed.
With a few minutes to go Gerrard and Carragher entered the fray. The appearance of the latter sparked the Reds fans into their one burst of serious singing, which culminated in an impressive rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone - some of our supporters joined in with that, waving their scarves (it was a shame that a few of the Pompey fans who'd jumped on the Hawk bandwagon for today sang 'Sign on, sign on' etc., but they were largely drowned out). The Hawks fans then launched into 'We're proud of you'.
Peter Crouch tapped in a flattering fifth as the game drew to a close. The Liverpool players didn't hang around long, but the Hawks team stayed on the field to receive a prolonged round of applause from both sets of fans.
And so the long coach journey home. This leg of the trip was much quieter, but Barry, the couple opposite and I had the odd conversation, and the couple said they were well on the way to converting to being full time Hawks. Result! Ruth kept our spirits high with the odd bit of witty banter over the PA. As we pulled out of our toilet break at Cherwell Valley to begin the last hour and a half of the journey she came on the mike to announce that she and Tim had had a fantastic day and, while she'd never been a football fan, she and Tim would now be keeping an eye on the fortunes of the Hawks, and asked us to use them again on our next big trip. Several of us shouted out that they should come with us to Hayes & Yeading next week.
About half an hour from home, got a text message from 
nice_guy_but, a Liverpool fan who hadn't been able to make the game and had just watched it on MOTD, praising our team.
Unforgettable.
The bus no-showed after work this afternoon. At 3 pm, 22 minutes after it should have arrived, I phoned First Bus in Fareham. All I got was ringing tone. I gave up on the bus and began walking towards Southampton Road. Not long after I turned out of the Segensworth Road shortcut footpath a couple pulled up alongside me and the wife, who clearly worked at my office and knew me, offered me a lift to Stubbington.
As I was due to give blood at Portsmouth football ground at 5.10, there was no longer time to go back to Gosport and dump my bag before going across to Fratton, so I asked if they could drop me in Fareham town centre. They agreed. Halfway there, when I mentioned to them that I was going to Liverpool on Saturday, we ended up talking about the cup tie for the rest of the drive.
Had a nose round WH Smith's, called at Burger King for grub, and bought and posted a birthday card for Carrie, then wandered down to the station to get the train to Fratton. Desperately needed the loo by now, so visited the train's toilet once we got moving - and was subjected to repeated hammering on the door by a drunk woman, who actually shouted 'Tickets please' during her second onslaught.
I reached the football ground 20 minutes early. I had my letter and health-check form ready, but without even looking at them the lady on the reception table just told me to take a number and a Welcome folder (the info sheets you have to read before every donation) and sit until my number was called. I do think that those of us who had appointments should have been fast-tracked.
It was 10 minutes before my call came, then I was asked to book my appointment for my nextdonation in May and given a yellow card, saying I was number 36 in the yellow queue (people who'd made appointments). When I sat down, they were only calling number 24 - time to pull out my copy of The Big Issue again...
When I was at last called by a friendly lady called Anne for my preliminary health questions and pinprick blood test, she apologised for the delay and explained that they'd had so many drop-ins that they'd been behind schedule all day. Obviously expecting further delays before I actually got called to donate, she invited me to get a drink from the refreshment table while I waited.
In the end, I'd only taken a couple of sips of my coffee when my call came. Jo, my carer, remembered me from previous donations at Gosport and asked why I'd come to Fratton this time, so I explained how I'd been booked to give at Gosport on the 3rd but been struck down by a cold. There was a hold-up because one of the T-shirts I was wearing under my jumper was judged too tight so I was sent to the loo to remove it (Jo clearly felt the donors and carers weren't ready for my bared torso; to be honest, she had a point, especially after a month of guzzling Christmas goodies). After that my donation went without a hitch - and my coffee was still there, and not yet cold, when I returned to the refreshment table :)
Just seen the 1994 Christmas Top of the Pops on BBC4. Interesting to see Take That, who were then at their zenith, hosting the show, especially given their current revival. '94 really was a wonderful year for music and I was glad to see Wet Wet Wet performing Love Is All Around live in the studio - that song has special memories for me, and reminds me of the many days that year I spent hanging around London's West End with Carrie (funny how I sent her a birthday card just a few hours before). It was also nice to see a few of my favourites from that year I hadn't heard for a while, like Without You from the gorgeous Mariah Carey, and Saturday Night from Whigfield looking stunning in her red dress, though only clips were shown of many of them like Ace of Base's The Sign and Michelle Gayle's Sweetness. A highlight was seeing Sheryl Crow as she then was, at the beginning of her fame, singing All I Wanna Do (I became a Sheryl fan from first hearing of that back in '94) though again we only got a clip. While the major event of my 1994 was a painful break-up, funnily enough I hardly thought about that during the show - except during Pato Banton singing Baby Come Back, as that record is inextricably linked in my mind with the young lady concerned. (Still love the song though.)
Lovely minted lamb burgers in the canteen today. That was as far as my luck ran, though...
About an hour after lunch the zip jammed on one of the pockets on my HWFC fleece jacket. It had been sticking all day but up till then I always got the damn thing to move in the end. Eventually, though, the zip got into an 'up only, no down' mode and stayed in it. My attemps to loosen it just resulted in it getting stuck rigid at the very top.
And this was the pocket with my house keys and change in.
Hilary and Sally attempted to help me shift it, including colouring the zip with pencil lead to make it slip, but to no avail. Some of the other girls also tried, but nobody had any luck. Everyone ended up advising me to cut a slit in the pocket from the inside to rescue my keys "then get your mum to sew it up". As Jane observed "It's a shame, because it's a nice fleece," and Jenny, in the booth next to me, said "You need that for Saturday!"
In the end Christine #1 tugged at it enough to get it to move down to the bottom. I evacuated everything to my other pocket. I tested the zip by pulling it up just a little way - again, it won't shift downwards one millimetre.
I cannot go about with only one zippable pocket, so until I can afford to put the jacket into a shop to have a new zip fitted (probably some time around September) I've been forced to retire my beloved Hawks fleece and dig my London 2012 one out of the back of the wardrobe.
Arsebiscuits.
Down to Bournemouth for Hawks Ladies' Hampshire Cup quarter-final. Got the shuttle bus from the town centre to the airport for 12.15, so getting a taxi the rest of the way should have been a doddle - right? No. Today there were no flights arriving until 3 pm, so there were no taxis in the airport. The guy in the taxi office phoned for one for me, and said it would arrive "in 5 to 10 minutes".
It turned up at 12.54.
I was now convinced I was going to miss the kick-off, thinking it was a 1 pm start. The taxi driver asked me where I'd flown in from. I explained I hadn't flown from anywhere, I'd come to Bournemouth by train and got a bus out to the airport to save some of the taxi fare. The cabbie advised me that getting a cab straight to Bournemouth Sports Club from the train station wouldn't work out any more expensive than my bus-plus-taxi plan did. After the 40 minutes I'd spent kicking my heels in an airport car park today, I will certainly remember that if the girls ever have another game at Bournemouth!
The taxi dropped me outside the clubhouse on the stroke of 1. Luckily, in the distance I saw the girls still warming up. I went over to the pitch where they were, had a quick chat with Claire and with Michelle, just back from 8 months at sea, and learned the game started at 1.30. Time to pop to the clubhouse and order sossies and chips.
Although the opposition were 2 divisions higher I hoped we might get something out of this tie, as last year we held them 0-0 at the same stage before losing on pennos. Alas, it wasn't to be; although the Hawk girls took the lead twice Bournemouth equalised both times, then we conceded 2 soft goals in the last 15 mins and Bournemouth made sure with a 5th during time added on.
In the clubhouse after, all the girls and the coaches sat around the table where I was drinking a beer, and agreed they'd all have a talk at training tomorrow night to examine where they went wrong and thrash out the best way forward. Then conversation turned to the men's match at Liverpool; although Kelly and Amy are the only actual Hawks supporters in the squad, all the girls are coming to Anfield. I showed everyone my copy of Non-League Today, with Hawks all over the front page; a couple of the girls wound Trevor up over his being quoted in the side column, while everyone liked the lead story which showed the BBC and Sky being slammed from all quarters for snubbing our games with Swansea and Liverpool.
From there I was picked up by my mother, Gran and Aunt Marian to go on to my cousin Lil's 21st birthday celebration at her house in nearby Verwood. Lil laid on a good buffet including Twiglets and cheese twirls; alas, soft drinks were the order of the day, although I've heard she had a bottle of champers which she opened for the late-stayers.
By then I was home watching Ski Sunday. While I miss the traditional Ski Sunday, the new format - Top Gear on the piste - looks interesting enough to check out again next week. Best bit for me was Ed Leigh's train ride from Moscow through Siberia.
Yesterday morning, absolutely everyone at the office had just one thing to say to me - "Are you going to Liverpool?"
Of course, I couldn't resist wearing my Hawks shirt to my mother's annual skittles last night. When Charis and her 9-year-old daughter Alex arrived, Charis and I said hello to each other and hugged, then I said hello to Alex ... whose first words to me were "My daddy doesn't like you."
I get on fine with Paul and we've been to a rugby league game together, so that was a bolt from the blue. "Why not?"
"Because you don't support Pompey." She'd been looking straight at my Hawks shirt.
A few minutes later, when Charis was preparing food in the kitchen, I told her about that little exchange and asked if Paul had been bad-mouthing me. Charis laughed. "No, that's just Alex."
Arrived in the unit this morning to hear a rumour from Phil, courtesy of Radio Solent, that the Liverpool tickets were due to go on sale at 10 am. Every hour, on my mini-break, I bombed down to the coffee lounge to check the club website. There was no news until noon, when it was announced that the tickets were on sale now.
So from work I got off the bus at Fareham train station. There wasn't a Havant train due for 10 minutes. Most of my shift I'd been getting answering machines or no reply, so the time then had dragged, but not half as much as those 10 minutes waiting for the train. They felt like an eternity. Worse, the train was two minutes late.
At last I reached Havant station where I jumped straight in a taxi and said "Havant & Waterlooville football ground." The driver was full of how at lunchtime the HawkSupport away travel had already had 5 coaches booked full. In the club office, there were just 4 people in front of me in the queue, and still loads of tickets on the table. Got mine without a hitch.
Went to the New Theatre Royal this evening to see Oddsocks' production of A Christmas Carol. It was weird seeing the big Christmas tree in the foyer and another one in the bar! I'd arrived quite early so was hanging around on the balcony when Aussie and Carol came over and said "Fancy seeing you here!" They asked if I'd ever seen Oddsocks before.
"I've never heard of them. I just bought a ticket after seeing the flyer."
"Oh!" Carol exclaimed. "We go to all their shows. You are in for a treat. They do Shakespeare as well, they're hilarious."
Aussie and Carol invited me to join them and several of their family for a drink. I told them I'd got my Liverpool ticket, so Aussie revealed he'd been at the Swansea replay! "How many are you going to beat Liverpool by?" Carol's aunt asked me... We all talked about Eurovision, and they filled me in a bit more about Oddsocks, until it was time to go in. I was in the stalls, they were in the dress circle; soon after I'd taken my seat, I saw Carol waving to me from overhead.
When we went in, the troupe, in Victorian garb, were on the stage playing Christmas carols on a mandolin, guitar, flute and a banjo. After a few tunes, the company "introduced" themselves - they announced each other with names like Joe King and Ophelia Muscles and made introductory speeches replete with gags. Mark Thyme, playing Scrooge, told the audience to greet his every "Bah! Humbug!" with a loud "Boo! Hiss!" He explained "There's nothing I like more at Christmas than a load of boos and a long hiss after"... The show was highly amusing. Mostly a faithful telling of the Dickens tale, the 5 cast members, playing 37 characters between them, peppered it with some visual and verbal gags throughout, complete with revolving sets, more energetic carol-playing, the Spirit of Christmas Present as a 20 foot papier mâché figure with a Scottish accent, plenty of audience participation, and Tiny Tim getting dropped all over the shop and bashed into door frames...
Arriving at work, Mike said "The big night tonight, then" and asked me if I'd bought my ticket for Liverpool yet! Little did he or I know...
Half an hour into the shift I was pleasantly surprised to see a tin of Heroes on the nibbles table. Couldn't resist prising the lid off and dipping in - even better, it was full or nearly full. A bit later, Sarah #4 pointed them out to me and said she'd brought them. I thanked her effusively. The chocs were just the thing to help pass the shift - for not just me but a lot of the others, judging by the puny half-dozen or so that remained with an hour to go.
During the last hour I got an elderly woman who had the worst attitude ever of anyone I've completed a full survey with. She constantly abused me in between questions and said on four separate occasions "This is a waste of my time". At the end she refused to suggest a time when we might catch her daughter in and hung up before I could ask if we could call her back in three months. After she hung up, I threw my headphones on the floor in disgust. Ann, a few seats away, looked over, but didn't ask me what was up, she just gawped at me as though I were a monkey at the zoo. At least Paula came back from her coffee break at that point, and spotted my headphones on the ground before I wound them back up onto my desk as she came back to her booth next to me. She did ask what was up.
"That call was a nightmare," I told her.
"We've all been getting nightmare ones," she said. I had, earlier, made out her and Jane talking to each other about awkward customers they'd got. "Well, it's over now," she added.
By contrast, the next guy I got, my last call of the day, was a man in his seventies who was a full-time carer for his wife and son, both of whom have a disability brought on by a progressive illness - thankfully, it hasn't stopped the son getting and holding a good job - and whose three other grown-up children, who live elsewhere, also have the same condition. If anyone was entitled to regard the survey as an unwelcome intrusion on their time it was him, not some cantankerous grotbag who's just in a foul mood and decides to take it out on a random stranger. But he was a lovely bloke and did the whole thing without complaint.
Arrived at Westleigh Park at 6 pm to find two mobile burger vans, of the type that set up at fairgrounds, pitched on the approachway. There was a sizeable queue there, though it built up a much longer way behind me, until, after a quarter of an hour of standing still while wide boys wandered up and down the queue trying to sell flags and scarves and the two programme ladies flogged their legitimate wares, we finally started moving.
By the time I got to the front and into the ground, there were only about 20 to 30 seats still unbagged, mostly in the front rows at the sides where you generally have a floodlight pole problem. After trying two seats, I settled in a third, from which the pole wasn't quite so obtrusive. There was still over an hour before kick-off and it was just surreal to be sitting in a full stand and to see Westleigh Park packed to the rafters, with people three or four deep all round the perimeter fence. I spotted Rob and Lisa sitting in the next block and waved.
The game - what can I say? The atmosphere was incredible throughout. Hawks went on the attack from the kick off, but nothing could have prepared me for, in the fourth minute, Richard Pacquette getting a touch onto a Brett Poate cross (or so I, and Trev on the PA, thought : it was later given as an OG) and sending the ball into the back of the net. We all went wild celebrating, then the realisation dawned that we wanted absolutely nothing to happen for the remaining 86 minutes...
And then halfway through the half Jamie Collins doubled our lead with a toe-poke from a goalmouth scramble! Could it get any better? Well, yes actually. After Jay Smith had intervened to head a Swansea threat clear, a Swansea defender failed to stop a Pacquette through ball and Rocky Baptiste gratefully ran on to make it 3-0.
But the game wasn't dead yet. Moments after our third, a Swansea player tried a speculative lob from 20 yards and scored with a deflection. Not long after that they got a dangerous-looking free kick, which was blocked, but then one of theirs was brought down in the box and the ref awarded a penalty - earning him a torrent of abuse from those all around me.
But KEVIN SCRIVEN SAVED IT!!!
Going in 3-1 up at the break was better than anyone had dared to dream. Very soon after the restart, though, Swansea pulled one back and the realisation hit me that our command of the game was as fragile as a house of cards. Both sides attacked; Kevin Scriven made some super saves; Brett Poate and Jay Smith in the Hawk defence dealt superbly with Swansea threats.
On 65 minutes, Brett Poate crossed from 30 yards out...and Tom Jordan was in the penalty box to head home. 4-2. That was when I really started to believe we were going to do it. The fast open game continued, still both sides piled on the pressure, Swansea hit the woodwork twice, Scrivs made another great save; I never once looked at my watch, I didn't want to know how long we still had to endure. Then suddenly Trev announced that the sponsors had chosen JC as Man of the Match (though I thought Scrivs or Brett deserved it) - a sign that the end was near. It really didn't feel like we'd played that long. Around me people were singing "We're going to Wemberley, que sera sera". Trev asked people not to go on the pitch at the end of the game, warning that they could be arrested. Still no further score. Trev announced that there would be three minutes of time added on. As the seconds slipped by, people began to shout at the referee "Blow your whistle". When we got a throw-in in their half, I knew we'd done it.
At last the final whistle blew and we all rose to our feet and let up a mighty cheer. I made my way quickly to the front - I needed to get to the loo before going for my train - but I and the other people seeking to get away were held at the barrier for a while, as Hawk players and fans celebrated on the pitch. Kevin Scriven came up to the fence to receive our richly deserved plaudits.
Finally making it to Havant station, I met a husband and wife in Hawk jackets, still on a post-game high. We all talked until they got off at Fratton. Missed the Gosport ferry by seconds; as I'd had nothing to eat or drink since tea time I headed for the 24-hour snack window for a perfect bacon roll and a Dr Pepper. "Here's a happy man," grinned the guy serving, spotting my Hawks scarf.
"Well done. Fucking brilliant, mate," a man on the Gosport ferry said, coming over and shaking my hand. He'd been listening to the game on the radio at work. "Did they win?" a teenage couple sitting a few seats away asked.
"4-2, mate," the guy told them, grinning. He talked to me about the match for the rest of the ride, and signed off "All you need now's to scrape past Liverpool 1-0"...
Unbelievable.
A peaceful shift, with one exception. Towards the end of the first hour I had an interview abruptly terminated by the husband of the lady I was speaking to, who'd just confirmed that he had his own scrap metal business, shouting that they were not going to answer any more bloody intrusive questions about their business.
I bet any money you like he's a crook.
