It was warm today, perhaps for the first time this year.

In the bright evening sunshine, he walked unsteadily towards me. A man who looked as though he would once have been fit, time and substances seem to have taken their toll. His face was battered, his nose broken, his eyes puffy, his ears misshapen.

’Are we playing tonight, Bro?’ he asked, nodding at the red and white scarf I wore.

´We are,´ I said.

’Who are we playing?’

I wasn’t sure of the pronunciation of ´Drogheda’ in these parts.…