Ah bet she’s a dirty wee minx in the scratcher. Y’see that "butter wouldnae melt" expression she’s goat goin on? That’s jist a smokescreen – ah guarantee she goes like a train.’ Jimmy belched, considerately turning his head away to exhale.

You had to give credit to anyone who managed to excel at their chosen pastime, be it golf, hang-gliding or hoovering up cocaine with the speed and efficacy of a Dyson Turbo.

Jimmy shot him a look that patently said: ‘Mon noo, Wee-man, whit are ye waitin fur? Ah’ve set ye up tae get in her knickers!

There was nothing normal about the divine twin sproutings that formed Rachel Melville’s magically springy chest. Almost involuntarily Ronnie found himself nodding like an obedient puppy.

Christ – wid ye take a look at that numpty? Fuckin "Popeye" izzit?’ Jimmy gestured towards the bar. ‘C**t obviously husnae hud his spinach, eh?

There was something strangely compelling about a Japanese guy with lamb-chop sideburns and a voice so shrill you could be forgiven for thinking his testicles were wired to the national grid.

You see this?’ she wanted to say to him; ‘this tasteless glob of half-masticated rubbery gunk? Well this is the same level as you, maybe higher.

Jimmy was in a league of his own when it came to puerile, half-pissed badinage.

The old agility was still present and the passion was undeniable, but it was the wobbling of the gut, the puffing of the cheeks and the profuse sweating that lent the performance its true magic.