As happy as we ordinarily are to be sloshing about in the amniotic sac of Bell End nursing a hangover like a drawer of spanners, it’s also nice, on occasion, to get out a bit. 2 in the morning crispy duck with black bean sauce and cucumber matchsticks, all wrapped up in vellum pancakes, for instance. And an adjoining table of hammered ladies from Huddersfield.
Their order: 4 prawn crackers, 1 sweet-and-sour pork, 1 chicken chow mein, 2 egg fried rice, 3 chicken curry, 1 martini and lemonade, 2 Malibu and coke, 1 vodka and Baileys, 1 Pernod and Ribena, 5 pints of Stella. Selywn nodded his regards and slipped off into the Chinatown ooze, hopscotching the puddles of vomit, dodging the gentlemen furtively addressing him as Charlie.